


Reminiscent

by crime_to_kill_a_mockingbird



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Turned Into a Ghost, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Lost Love, Love Confessions, Major Character Undeath, Queen Sansa, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 16:09:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20641949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crime_to_kill_a_mockingbird/pseuds/crime_to_kill_a_mockingbird
Summary: Post Game of Thrones.Sansa struggles with the loss of Petyr.She is the Queen in the North. She is loved and admired. Her family is safe and happy and she is home. But that hole Petyr left behind can't seem to be filled.Petyr has some unfinished business before he moves on from this world to the next.





	Reminiscent

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooooo before or after you read this, read @/Petyrbaaaeeelish 's "Ghost" (part 1-3). It moved me in ways a fic never has and it is absolutely beautiful.
> 
> My full inspiration came from that fic alone.

Sansa sat up in a sweat. She was dreaming about him again.

She took a deep, calming breath and waited for her heart rate to return to normal. Her hair stuck to her face and it curled slightly from the dampness of her sweat.

Sometimes when she dreamt of him, they were good dreams. But she'd wake up crying because no matter how sweet the dream was, it always ended with the  _ truth _ . That she killed him.

Most of the time, though, they were nightmares.

_ Petyr leaves King's Landing without her and doesn't kill Joffrey. She suffers more humiliation and pain in the Capital. _

_ Petyr doesn't reach Lysa in time and Sansa is thrown head first through the moon doors. _

Or tonight's,

_ Petyr doesn't show up for her at the Battle of the Bastards and she hangs herself the first second she gets, refusing to suffer from the hands of Ramsay once more. _

She rubbed at her throat. She could almost  _ feel _ the bedsheets cutting into her skin as she struggled in the air. She remembered taking her final breath from her dream.

And one of the worst feelings was heartbreak. Petyr's fatal mistake when handing her over to the Bolton's was a disastrous betrayal in her eyes. But that betrayal stuck with her because despite her better judgment telling her  _ not to love him _ , she did anyway. She was falling in love with him easily until he left Winterfell. Even then, she had hope that his plans would work out the way he intended them too, and he'd be back in no time. She had thought that his plans were to bring her back to Winterfell so as that when Stannis' army beat the Bolton's, he could marry her himself and they'd rule Winterfell together. She wondered if that would be enough for him? If it would have stopped there?

She knew he wanted to sit on the iron throne but if he had Sansa and all of the North… could he be content with that? Especially now that the North is an independent kingdom? He'd be King. With her. If it worked out that way, that is. She knew she wouldn't deny him despite her siblings protests about it. She would have married him if it worked out in such a way. She loved him, perhaps she still did. Perhaps a large part of her had wished that,  _ that _ was Petyr's plan all along until Ramsay showed his true character and ruined everything. Ruined her.

Did he still want her after Ramsay? After everything she told him about. How Ramsay had used and abused and tortured and  _ raped _ . Who would still want her after that? Surely if he  _ had _ ever truly loved her, it was for her beauty and innocence and purity. She had none of those things anymore. Her face was the only thing that remained beautiful. Her body adorned horrific scars. It used to be far worse but the burns and bruises and shallow cuts have healed. The worst scar she carried was the deep 'R' that he had carved into her lower belly.

She wondered if she could still produce an heir after everything he'd done to her.

A blissful image floated before her eyes of two little boys, both with dark curly hair and a little girl with beautiful red hair. The eyes of the boys were a gorgeous blue, but the girl's was a smoky green. She knew those eyes well. The boys were running about in the snow outside, causing trouble, but the girl sat atop a horse… her father behind her with a protective arm wrapped around her form. Sansa hadn't realized she was crying until a tear fell onto her bare thighs.

She wiped her face and stood. That was what  _ could _ have been, had he not betrayed her so terribly.

She pulled on a thick robe and tied it, lighting a candle and slipping her bare feet into the warmth of her slippers. The hall was cold but she didn't intend to stay there for long. She knew where she was going.

It wasn't the smartest of ideas to go outside but she needed to. She shivered when the cold ate through her robe and caressed her bare skin. Her teeth chattered momentarily before she willed them to stop.

There was inches of snow on the ground already, but she didn't care that her feet were getting wet.

When she stood in that spot, mere feet away from the God's Wood, she breathed a deep sigh and let her eyes close. She let the tears fall. This was the place where they last had a  _ real _ interaction. After this he was only Littlefinger. She didn't see Petyr until moments before he died. Moment's before  _ she killed him. _

But it was Petyr that stood here and told her of his dreams. How he wanted to be king, and how he wanted her by his side.

Surely that meant he still wanted her even after Ramsay? But it was one thing to be told of something horrific and ugly to look at, but to actually experience it? Sansa wasn't sure if he'd recoil in disgust or not.

_ We all have scars, sweetling. _

It was in her head, she knew, though the sound of that voice and her old nickname made the tears fall harder. She sobbed, biting her bottom lip hard as she wrapped her arms around herself to keep her body warm.

Yes, he had a scar too. One she'd never seen, mind you. She wondered if it was as bad as the stories claimed it was. Did it really go from collar to navel? Did it still pain him after all those years the way her scars hurt her now?

No, he didn't seem like the person to be bothered by her scars. Repulsed by Ramsay and by himself, yes, but she truly didn't believe the repulsion would be from the sight of her skin. Her naked body.

Would he have treated her gently? The way all the romantic stories were? Would he be as selfish in bed as he was in life? Would he be… good in bed?

She would never know. She would never know if he would be a just ruler, or a loving husband, or a caring father. She never gave him the chance.

Did she regret it?

Sometimes. Often. But maybe that was just her missing him.

_ Hush, my love. _

That voice again. Breathing into her ear like the very wind itself. It was as if he'd just said it himself, that's how real it sounded. She remembered the last time he called her that.  _ My love. _ He was standing a foot away from where she stood now. He had just tried to kiss her.

What would it have been like? Like the last few times he kissed her?

His hands on either side of her face as he inched closer. Her lips had parted instinctively for his. It was a gentle press, both times, hardly even a kiss. Just a  _ reminder: _ that he was always there, wanting her.

Or would it have been different? Heated? More urgent and needy? These are questions she would never have the answers to. Questions she  _ wish _ she knew the answers to.

She could practically  _ feel _ those warm lips against hers. Feel his hands threading through her hair and holding her face against his as delicately as possible. As if she'd break in his hands if he pressed too hard.

She breathed out a sigh as her eyes opened, causing a cloud of fog to spiral from her lips. For a second, a split, fleeting second… she could have sworn she saw those smoky eyes staring back at her with sad wonderment.

But it was the middle of the night and she'd been dreaming of him for months, hell, she was  _ just _ daydreaming of him… she must have imagined it. That's what she told herself as she felt the pads of his fingers drag across her jaw before the touch disappeared completely.

Her body shivered violently and she finally succumbed to the cold, returning to her room to escape under the covers. Enveloped in warmth, yet the coldness in her heart remained.

Night's such as these progressed for weeks more. Sansa was restless. She needed to let go of the 'what if''s. She needed to let go of him. She needed to move on. But  _ how _ , was the question.

She knew her family was safe and  _ she _ was safe. She was home and ruled over all of the North. She was respected:  _ loved _ , even. But she couldn't seem to let go of what  _ could have been. _

She was sitting at the high table, in the seat her father once sat. The crown felt right where it sat on her head. She couldn't help but wonder how Petyr would look with a crown on.

Everyone had filed out of the room moments ago but she didn't want to leave just yet. These precious moments by herself were ones to cherish now a days. Ser Brienne never left her side and nor did the many knights and lords trying to win her affections. She had no interest in such  _ boys _ . Not now.

The room had a sudden chill to it and Sansa wondered if someone left a door or window open. She reached for her gloves on the table in front of her and pulled them on to warm herself.

_ "I told you command suits you." _

Sansa froze. No, she hadn't imagined  _ that. _ Was she going mad, now?

She looked around the room but saw nothing. No one. No Petyr. Yet she could  _ feel _ him present.

She looked down to the floor. To the place his lifeless body once lay, where his hot blood coated it's stone surface. She shivered and stood.

Enough of this. She needed to stop thinking about him.

_ "But you can't stop, can you?" _ The voice,  _ his voice,  _ mocked her. _ "...Thinking about me." _

She swallowed thickly and looked around the room again. Nothing. Nothing but that dull  _ cold. _

She took another step towards the door but his voice made her freeze again.

_ "Sweetling." _ He breathed. He was close to her. She closed her eyes, pretending she was somewhere else. Or perhaps… pretending the voice had a very real, very  _ alive _ body attached to it.

She closed her eyes. Was this real? Was she imagining this or were those old folk tales true? Was he a spirit that had come back to haunt her?

She heard him chuckle and she gasped.  _ She can't be imagining this! _

_ "Haunt you?"  _ He chuckled again.  _ "Sweetling, you've never had anything to fear from me." _

She wondered, briefly, if that was true. He gave her to the Bolton's, yes, but he'd felt immense remorse for such a horrible  _ mistake _ . It wasn't intentional.

She felt a warm hand graze the side of her face, knuckles running down her cheek affectionately.

_ "Look at me." _

She swallowed down the lump in her throat and willed her eyes to open. They did, finally, and she gasped loudly but suppressed the scream threatening to pass her lips.

A  _ Very real _ pair of grey-green eyes were boring into hers.

It was him. Alive and well standing right in front of her, his fingers gliding through her hair. He was far more pale than usual and his eyes held a certain amount of cold  _ emptiness  _ to them… but his skin was still his skin and his eyes were still his eyes. His half-a-smirk still mocking and his appearance still immaculate.

There was no trace of blood on his body but she cringed deeply at the gnarly slash scar across his throat.  _ Arya had done that. She had commanded her to. _

_ "Miss me?" _

Sansa exhaled slow and long.

"How… how are you alive?" She asked and his smirk widened.

_ "I'm not… don't you remember, sweetling?" _

Her breaths were shaky and inconsistent.  _ Yes, _ she remembers.

"How are you here?" She amended her original statement.

He licked his lips, pulling away from her a little to shrug.  _ "Unfinished business, I suppose." _

Sansa frowned slightly. Was he here to hurt her?

If he was a ghost… how did he look so real? How could she touch him? How was he warm?

"And… what might that be?" She asked cautiously.

He looked up to send her a smirk but it quickly dropped when he noticed the expression on her face.

He stepped closer to her but she moved back just as fast.

_ "Scared of me?" _ He asked and she shrugged slightly, not knowing what to say. He frowned. _ "Despite everything, Sansa. I could never hurt you." _

Why not? She wondered. She killed him. Betrayed him intentionally to get back at him for his unintentional betrayal.

_ "Why not?" _ Petyr repeated her thoughts. Sansa huffed, tired of him getting into her head. God, he must be  _ loving _ this… reading her thoughts and emotions.  _ "Because I still love you, sweetling." _

She bit down on her bottom lip, overwhelmed by everything at the moment.

_ "And," _ he stepped closer again, but this time she didn't move away.  _ "Because I'm proud of you." _

Those words made her freeze. They made her meet his eye again.  _ Proud of her!? _

_ "You learned from the best, and you outmaneuvered the best. Not that you had anything to fear from me." _ He elaborated briefly.  _ "I was angry and upset… heartbroken, at first."  _ He admitted.  _ "But watching you take that throne in the end and wear that crown…" _ He smiled. It was a rare, genuine one.  _ "All ill emotions I felt towards you just dissolved." _ He paused.  _ "And then I watched you struggle with my passing. And it hurt me to see you so upset." _

Sansa felt the need to deny what he was saying, but what was the point? His death  _ has _ affected her a great deal.

_ "I suppose I came back to give you closure." _

Sansa's hand moved on her own accord. Her fingers grazed the deep cut on his neck and he flinched, face twisting in apparent pain. He hissed quietly and she pulled away.

"I'm sorry." She breathed, feeling the remorse hit her like a brick. Her eyes watered as she held back her tears. Her heart ached. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head.  _ "You did what you thought was right for your family."  _ He countered, his hand resting on her upper arm.

"How can I touch you? How is your skin warm?" She asked and Petyr smiled bitterly.

_ "How is any of this possible? I don't know."  _ He replied, giving her arm a gentle squeeze.

"Have you been reading my thoughts these past few months?" She asked, thinking back to that day dream of their could-have-been family and how she wondered if he would be a good lover.

Petyr smirked.  _ "Yes." _

She blushed, eyes widening. He chuckled. "How long will you be here?"

His smirk faded.  _ "Not much longer." _ The sorrow filled his eyes.

"Why?" She asked. If he stayed here for months, surely he could stay longer. "It's like you're alive again. Why can't you just stay indefinitely?"

_ "Because it hurts to be here. To be near you." _ He gestured to the scar on his neck and she looked down in shame.  _ "I endured the pain all this time so I could help you when the time was right. But being this close to you is almost unbearable." _

This time the tears fell without her permission and she abruptly turned away from him so he wouldn't see. Hid hand rested on her shoulder comfortingly.  _ "Sansa, it's okay." _

"It's not okay!" She reeled on him, spinning back around. "I killed you to protect my family, right? Well where are they now!? And I'm  _ all alone. _ "

He nodded slowly.  _ "I know, sweetling." _ He whispered as he reached for her hand.

They were quiet for a long moment. She felt herself warm being under his gaze with her hand wrapped tightly in his.

"Did you really love me?" She asked. "And not because I reminded you of my mother or because you wanted more power or simply because you wanted to control me. Did you truly love me?"

His gaze intensified, turning serious. _ "I don't give just anyone the power to destroy me."  _ He paused, the hand not in hers reached up to stroke the side of her face.  _ "Of course I loved you, Sansa. I still do.” _

_ "Love has always been my weakness. It was with your mother when I was a boy. And it was with you in the end. You were my undoing, it turns out. My kryptonite." _ He drew her closer until their bodies were centimeters apart.

"Do you regret loving me now? After you know how it ends for you." She asked, voice a whisper because of how close he was.

_ "No." _ He breathed out hoarsely.  _ "It was heartbreaking to watch the one person I love most in the world, destroy me completely…"  _ He admitted.  _ "But I got to watch you play the game… win the game. And God,”  _ He smiled in amusement.  _ “Watching you win made me love you even more, if that were possible.” _

She smiled in spite of herself. He caused her pain, yes. But he made her happy as well. And inevitably, she had caused him pain, too.

She placed a hand on his chest; right over his heart, but didn’t feel it’s regular rhythm.

“What do we do now?” She asked hesitantly and his expression shifted. He was sad.

_ “We say goodbye.” _ He told her. “ _ There’s nothing left to do besides that.” _ She nodded and his hand went to cup the side of her face.  _ “Gosh, you’re beautiful.” _ She blushed and smiled, placing her hand over his.  _ “Do you know how badly I wished you would return my affections?” _

“I do.” She told him and it pulled another smile from his lips. “Petyr, will…” She bit down on her bottom lip as she hesitated. His head tilted to the side in question. It was always him that initiated intimacy between them. “Will you kiss me?”

He smirked instantly and leaned forwards without pause to fulfill her wish. It was another gentle kiss, soft and tender. She sighed against his mouth and the sound made him bring her closer. He pulled away far too soon for her liking, so she followed his lips, leaning into him, and kissed him again. She felt him chuckle against her before he responded.

This one was needy, like she imagined the one at the Gods Wood, would have been. It was insistent and like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Ramsay never kissed her and Joffrey was just a peck. Petyr’s kisses were sweet and meaningful. This one especially was sensual and it promised more. A part of her heart ached knowing there would never be more. Just this sweet and perfect moment.

She was surprised when she felt his tongue run along her bottom lip, but it seemed her body knew exactly what to do as her lips parted on their own accord. His tongue immediately slipped into her mouth and she hummed with delight as he caressed her own tongue slowly. She began responding to the playful actions of his tongue as it got more heated. His hands seemed to not be able to get enough of her. His left was flat against her back, feeling up and down in hypnotic motions while his right tangled fervently in her hair as he angled her face against his mouth for better access. Her own hands ventured into his hair and along his shoulders, down his chest.

_ “Mm, Sansa-” _ But she wouldn’t let him talk, because she knew what came next. She just kept kissing him desperately.

_ “Sweetling,” _

“No!” She exclaimed, pressing herself against him. He held her tighter.

_ “You know this isn’t what I want.” _ He reminded her, giving her another passionate kiss.  _ “But I’m not meant for this world anymore.” _

She began to cry again, feeling a dull ache in her chest. He kissed away her tears, resting his forehead against hers.

_ “I can only hope we meet again, in another world.” _ He told her. _"Another life."_

“I… I love you.” She choked out. Did she really just tell him that?

His grip around her tightened. She breathed him in, that minty aura.

_ “And I love you. More than anything.” _

She felt a soft sob escape her as he repeated the same last words he said to her before he died months ago.

_ I love you. More than anything. _

The door banged open and just like that the room was warm again. He was gone in an instant. The mint smell faded quickly and her lips tingled from their shared kiss. She felt the hot, salty tears stream down her face but she didn’t move to wipe them away.

“Your Grace,” Ser Brienne bowed low as she approached. She stopped in her tracks when she saw how distraught Sansa was. “What’s happened? Are you alright?” Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword as she scanned the room.

Sansa swallowed thickly and nodded her head. “Yes, Brienne. Thank you.”

She looked as if she were about to protest but Sansa swiftly waved her off.

Did it even happen at all?

Once second he was there and he was kissing her and the next he was gone. Completely gone.

She touched her lips with the tip of her index finger, remembering how good it felt to give into him. To let him kiss her. To kiss him back. To allow herself a moment to feel loved by him. To allow herself a moment to love him, however fleeting it may have been.

_ More than anything. _

She felt something cold and hard in the palm of her hand and she looked down curiously to inspect the object in question.

She wasn’t sure how he got it to her without her realizing, but then again, she wasn’t sure how any of what just happened was even possible. She had never believed in ghosts before.

And that’s all he was now, a ghost.

She rolled the silver mockingbird around in her hand as she stared at it. The light from the windows reflected off the beak and shone back at her. What a beautifully elegant little thing it was. She closed her fingers around it and held on tightly.

No, he wasn’t a ghost. He was the man she loves and always will,

_ More than anything. _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not crying.
> 
> This was an idea I've been toying with the last little while.
> 
> I wanted to play with the idea of "what if"
> 
> In this fic, Sansa couldn't seem to get her mind out of what "could have been" if things had played out differently.
> 
> I wanted to explore what could have been said between the two of them if they had a chance to speak again.
> 
> Now, yes, I'd imagine that if I were being realistic, Petyr would be rather angry and upset. But I DO believe he'd be pretty damn proud of her, too. She out played him (even though he may or may not have been blinded by love). I truly think love is Petyr's weakness. It was evident with Cat, and also with Sansa; I feel he would have done a lot of things differently had he not been in love with her. Had he been thinking of his plans and schemes and nothing more.
> 
> Alas, I wanted this to be an emotional story focusing more on their last words than anything.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3. Please leave your thoughts.


End file.
